


Lachesism

by fledermauss



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Angst, F/M, Lots of Crying, Post-Endgame, Self-Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 06:25:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4614627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fledermauss/pseuds/fledermauss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's fading fast and all he can think of is the color of her hair</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lachesism

**Author's Note:**

> Gonna just preface this by saying I absolutely love Henry, but writing him is so difficult since 1) I'm bad at jokes, and 2) He's just a very complex character to write both the mind and presentation of.  
> Thanks [postfixrevolution](/users/postfixrevolution) for putting up with the pain I put her through and more importantly putting up with me while I write.  
> A bit sloppy, so forgive any typos or confusing, rambling sentences if you can, haha

_I love you.  I’m sorry._

A laugh bubbles out of his throat like miserable indigestion, full of disbelief. His eyes are wide, in fear, in desperation, in resignment.  They search her face as she rests her tired head in his hands which claw and yank at her hair like a wild animal.  He feels sick; this is wrong.  Everything is so so wrong.  He wants to clutch his head, to hug his knees and scream, but every moment is precious and every second that passes is another part of him screaming out.  He tries to burn her image into his mind, praying to whatever divine being compassionate enough to listen.

_It’s okay.  You don’t need to fight anymore._  

At that, he squeezes his eyes shut so hard he sees stars and they collect to form her, the brightest cupping her face, her tears.  He leans into her, even as he feels her weight leave, and she kneels with him, letting him sink rather than crash.  She hugs him close, breathing in his scent -- that wild wild scent of grass and dirt and blood and the burning smell his magic leaves -- then strokes his hair, feeling its unkempt coarseness and thin sleekness both.  Her tears melt away the blood on his shoulder, forcing it to ooze slowly again, and she can’t help thinking she is bleeding him with her sobs, shoving the knife deeper into his gut when suddenly he laughs.  It’s a bit forced, a little angry, and very hurt as if he’s asking, “How could you do this to me? How could you leave like this?” Her attempt at a calm sigh devolves into a hiccup at the thought of leaving, of what she’d knowingly done and she tightens her fast-weakening grip.

_I have to go now.  Please let Morgan know I’ll miss him very much._

Morgan.  The name stings at his throat and sears his mind. Morgan Morgan Morgan Morgan.  His thoughts clash bitterly with one another, leaving only dust.  Her son.   _His_ son -- no, _their son_.  Morgan hadn’t been allowed to fight with them, since she was afraid of what would happen in the face of the fell dragon.  He didn’t even know.  The choice.  His mother’s disappearance is happening again, this time in his father’s arms rather than in the back of a dragon’s gaze, and he wants to pick her up, to run to the infirmary, to call out for him because he doesn’t know and that only means it’ll be him, his own father to deliver the news after the fact.  Little more than a cloak will remain and the camp will celebrate while dancing around him, a miniature memorial service.  He thinks, ‘He doesn’t even remember me, I’m not a father to him.  It’ll be like Wolfie all over again.’ then a sputtering cough interrupts his panic.  He has to let her know, before she’s gone.

_Make good memories with our family._

His breath hitches mid-giggle, splintering into uneven strands of ‘Naga why’ and ‘please don’t go.’  He’s had plenty of good memories throughout the war.  Getting to slaughter people without repercussions aside from a light scolding, making jokes everyone groaned at, meeting her.  It’s the family bit that really burns in his ears.  Her fingers begin to fade at the nape of his neck and his greatest fears are confirmed.  His only family is disappearing again.  Sure, he loves Morgan more than he thought possible, and laughed harder than he had before the night they met, but they are still only barely acquainted.  Morgan would never remember him the way he remembers Mother.  In a way, that hurts.  All the other kids love and miss their fathers, even if they do take after their mothers more distinctly.  It isn’t Morgan’s fault, but Henry’s not to blame either.  Nothing about the situation is fair, but time is quickly evaporating and taking his beloved with it so he stops grabbing at her hair and instead focuses on wiping the tears flooding down her cheeks instead.  He laughs as light as he can, hoping one chortle might elicit a grin or giggle out of her that tells him she’ll come back, that he’s doing well so far, that she isn’t offput by the things he does or says and, most of all, that she’ll miss him, too.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, y’know that right?” he says between twinkling chimes.  “In fact, you blow this entire war right outta the water! Nya ha ha!”

He sees the glimpse of a smile, but it’s not right, it’s tired and sad; it’s pitying.  He tries to think up a joke, something to make her really, genuinely guffaw and not just groan or push him away.  All he can think of is water and how her hair sort of looks like the clear lakes he’d seen his first day in Ylisse.  That morning was foggy and the sun hadn’t quite risen yet, which made the lakes’ surfaces look like blue mist, calm and unreal.  The feeling is there when he looks at her now, as more than half her body has dissolved into who knows where.  She stares empty-eyed back at him and he finds he’s still set on talking, even if she vanishes mid-sentence.

“Death’s nothing to be sad about… But it sure will be lonely without you.” He pauses.  “I’ll take good care of Morgan, you’ll see!  And when you come back I bet he’ll even have his memories, so maybe we can--”

She laughs, real and from the bottom of her no longer existent gut.

 

_Did you realize he has your smile? Morgan laughs just like you and I couldn’t be happier._

 

At that, the tears resume.  Robin’s face fades quicker than any other part of her as if she is being gulped up by the air itself and her eyes, like onyx, fade last while her final shudderingly clear laughs repeat in his head.

And then she is gone.  Her cloak, covered in grime, drops out of suspension, hitting the ground and kicking the all-too-familiar dust into his eyes.  They sting, but still he cannot cry.

Their eyes are on his back, boring into the purple robes as he numbly buries his head into her clothing.  Her scent, the one filled with candlewax and parchment, lingers as does the smell of forest fire, crackling and black.  Magic, raw and unbinding, builds in the void of his chest, but there is nowhere to direct it.  He could unleash havoc upon the rest of his party, on the few remaining risen, guarantee his death.  But he can’t think that way anymore, he has something to protect, someone worth dying for.  Dying here would only make his family, both of them, sad and a million jokes about risen would never make up for it.  And so he fights the urge to curse everything from his comrades to the very ground they stand upon and swallows his hexes, instead opts to dig his toes into the ground and stand, head still crooked and hidden in empty sleeves.

When he finally lifts his head, there is a smile painted on. It’s pained and bereft of the usual humming or chuckling, so as Chrom places a solid grip on Henry’s shoulder, his hand is hesitant and those reassurances, as resolute as they may be, sound feeble.  He spins around and Shepherds uneasily make room left and right for his eerily steady walk back.  Thinking of jokes for Morgan to wake up to, he twirls a ring around the tip of his index finger inside a pocket of heavy, blanketing robes.


End file.
